


Ecdysis

by Anon_E_Miss



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers AU - Fandom, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Blackmail, Child Abuse, Dark, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Mutilation, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, attempted sexual assault of a minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-06-18 07:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_E_Miss/pseuds/Anon_E_Miss
Summary: When he gave emergence to sparklings who did not share his Praxian frame, Prowl lost everything. After vorns in a brothel, serving the worst of the worst, Prowl barely escapes with his and the Twins' lives.  Upon arriving in Iacon, Prowl puts the shame of his past life behind him, and rises high up the ranks of Autobot command. But old friends and old enemies are waiting in the wings, and the shedding of his past life will be harder for Prowl to maintain than he ever imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo... I did a terrible thing. I resisted this plot for about five minutes but could not write anything else for the life of me, so here it is. If you are triggered by any of the content listed in the tags, do us both a favour and take care of yourself, don't rail on me for writing this.
> 
> If you want to skip the nastiness but still follow the story, feel free to find me on tumblr, and I'll give you a safe summary.

Walking was agonizing. Everything hurt. No part of him had been left unmolested, or free of damage. Mechfluids, transfluids and lubricants stained his frame, more still continued to ooze down his legs. Surely this time there had been permanent damage. The majority of the buymechs employed by the Crystalline Berth, and similar brothels in the Stews, once they came to accept this was their lot, their own hopes of escape being wealthy patron, had rubberized valves installed. These mods resulted significantly reduced sensation to the buymech, but they did not damage easily. In approaching sixteen hundred stellar-cycles, Prowl had never surrendered to that fate. Even now the disgraced Praxian would not accept his life and death lay within the walls of the brothel, if it took another fifteen hundred stellar-cycles, Prowl would step beyond the brothel’s doors, and he would take his mechlings with him. This was not a desperate hope, no if this was a mere hope it would have died long ago, this was a plan, and when the time was clear and right, the buymech would execute it.

 

As much as Prowl longed for his berth, he needed to clean the filth from his frame before he returned to his private habsuite, though it could hardly be called that. Already the Twins had seen too much, much more than young mechanisms should ever have been forced see. They did not need to see him in such an awful state. The clients had abused every micrometre of his frame over the course of their six joor session. He had no idea how many mechs had overloaded in him or on him, and he would not be able to identify all of the tools of torture they had used on him. His memory had not degraded at all the many vorn of his servitude, but he had learned to close himself off when he faced clients with a taste for pain. They wanted their victim to cry and to beg. Prowl would do neither, had never done either, not even when they had jammed that shock stick into his valve.

 

Surely that had done permanent damage, not just accounting for the violent penetration, he had healed from such injuries more times than he would care to think about, but the horrific charge had burnt him, deep inside. If he lost all sensation from this event, Prowl did not think he would be too terribly troubled, and that was a disturbing thought. Though the effort had his legs shaking, the buymech limped passed the narrow hall that let to his meagre rooms, and on towards the dormitory washracks. There were baths, decorated with cheap crystals and mosaics, meant for clients to use, with their chosen prostibots. Those were the jobs the buymechs liked best, they gave them the opportunity to soak, and to get truly clean, and buymechs came to blows over who would take such a session. It had been a long time since Prowl had been called on to serve such a client. No, Desecrus took distinct pleasure in assigning him clients with the most scandalizing tastes. He knew well that Prowl would not refuse the clients, he had more to lose then the other prostibots.

 

When he had first entered the brothel, it had not been as terrible as it was now. Though Prowl had never possessed a skill for entertainment, not dance, nor theatre, nor song, he had received the formal education no common buymech could have dreamed off, and so he had been popular enough with tradesmech, and merchants who fancied themselves high class. It had been a depressing, and desperate life, but the Twins had been enough motivation for the originator to bare the indignities as he had hoarded his tips, and planned for the mega-cycle when he would be able to pay his debts to the house, and finally leave Praxus forever. Unknown to him, at the time, Schema, the brothel master who had hired him on, had incurred massive gambling debts, and the mega-cycle came when he defaulted, and the brothel that had been used as collateral was suddenly under new managment. The new master had taken one look at Prowl, and the Twins and had declared him perfect for his newest venture. Where the Crystalline Berth had not been of the highest class, despite the grandiose designation, it had held itself above the worst perversions, but not for much longer after Desecrus had taken over. There were credits to be gained in deviant interface, and the new master had been clever enough to go through his buymechs to find the most desperate, the most disgraced. Prowl had fit the bill perfectly.

 

All the other brothels in the Stews had turned Prowl away when he had made his inquiries. Even these outcasts had turned their olfactory ridges up at the sight of his twins. They would not allow they businesses to be sullied with his foreign-framed bastards. Had he had even a credit to his designation, the ostracized mech would have turned his back on Praxus, and faced the unknown in the Crystal City, Vos or Iacon. But he had not had even a single credit at his disposal. His procreators had drained his accounts immediately after disowning him. It had been an illegal act, but no Justice would side with a pariah, no Enforcer would investigate, least of all for him. The laws of citizenship in Praxus were clear, and cruel. It was a bitter thing for a mech who had lived and breathed the law for his whole adult life to admit, but the realities had been thrown in his face, and Prowl could not deny that Praxus was nothing close to a paradise, or a model state. No, it was a dark and cruel place with a pretty veneer that had fooled him, and continued to fool the world.

 

Prowl hissed as the scalding solvent spray soaked his brutalized frame. While the public pools and showers were finely tuned, the dormitory shower tended to run too hot or too cold. In this instance it burnt. His plating screamed as the solvent poured over his scrapes and deeper cuts. He kept a servo over his spark, and over his valve, to protect them both from the spray. Both were permanently exposed. Schema had thrown them away early in Prowl’s tenure, common whores had no expectation of modesty, it gave them ideas of grandeur. Though it stung, the Praxian remained under the spray for several klik. From experience, Prowl knew if he waited the solvent would cool, and he would be able to do what needed to be done. Sure enough, after only a few kliks the temperature dropped notably, and the buymech braced himself. Leaning against the washracks’ wall he took the telescopic shower head, and aimed it had his ruined valve.

 

His optics shorted. Prowl would have screamed had he not locked his vocalizer down. It took a considerable feat of will to keep the shower head there, and to wash the mechfluid, and transfluids from within his frame. He shook, violently. The pain was excruciating. Tears pooled in his optics, before they streamed down his faceplates. Somehow this was worse than the original injury, Prowl had not imagined it could be possible. Though his legs threatened to give out from under him, the buymech forced himself to keep his peds. Once he was down, the originator knew he would not be standing again for mega-cycles or more. Uncertain how much longer he could last, the Prowl put the shower head back in place and turned off the spray. As carefully as he could he dried himself, and took stock of his frame.

 

There was no hiding his injuries from Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and it grieved him. They would not see his valve, his mechlings and trained themselves to always look straight up at his face, but they would see everything else, and it would wound their battered young sparks. It hardly mattered how often their originator told them none of this was their fault, they carried so much blame in their sparks, and had vocalized a deep loathing of their Polihexian frames on too many occasions. They called themselves ugly, though they were the most beautiful sparklings Prowl had ever seen. If they had had doorwings, none of this would be happening, they whimpered as they scowled at their own frames, and pulled at their plating. Prowl had always, and would always soothe them, but he knew they were wounded, merely by existing. He had not done enough to save them, though he honestly could not see what he might have done differently, except for aborting them, and that had never been an option, not in his spark.

 

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were overdo for their youngling upgrades. It would be another cost added to his debt to the brothel, a debt that was supposed to contain only the costs of his maintenance and housing, and yet somehow it seemed impossibly high. No doubt the master was padding the account but exactly how was Prowl to prove it, and who exactly would care to right this? Exactly no one. In the light-cycle, the Praxian would make arrangements with the medic that was contracted to the brothel to prepare the Twins for the upgrades. The recovery period would be a good excuse to continue with their lessons. As they were not Praxian citizens they were not entitled to a state education, unlike the creations of the other buymechs. Their originator had taught them to read and write, and basic mathematics in the early light-cycle joors, and whatever other joors they had been able to steal. They were such clever mechlings, but he had so few resources to share with them.

 

They would need to dig into their savings in order to pay the dues for the immediate future. Clients did not come to the Crystalline Berth to have their spikes suck, and that was the only service Prowl would be able to provide for a quartex, or longer. A sensible businessmech would have demanded the clients foot the cost of repairs, but Desecrus practised a policy of: the customer is always right, including when they maimed his buymechs. The only exception was death. On the rare occasion where a prostibot died of his injuries, the client or clients responsible were expected to pay the cost of the unfortunate mechansism’s remaining debt, and the costs of a replacement’s training. Despite the low quality of the brothel’s whores, Desecrus;s invoices for such events were high enough to persuade even the most brutal clients to reign themselves in just that small amount. There had not been a death like this in two vorns. This last one who had died had been new to the brothel, those who had been around longer knew when the line was crossed, and they could defend themselves with the master’s blessing, the poor young mech had not, and had died for his ignorance.

 

It was a sobering to realize his injuries this time were enough to pose a threat to his life. Rust infection would be the greatest threat, recognizing this Prowl knew he would have to spend the credits for some basic medical treatment, and thus eat even deeper into his savings. That alone was an even more sobering thought. Whenever he got close to saving enough credits to pay the outlandish debts held over him, something inevitably happened that threw his progress vorns backwards. Over fifteen thousand stellar-cycles it had been one thing or another, upgrades, medical care, something else. If he had known, Primus if he had known, Prowl would have stayed on the streets, risked unregistered prostitution, and he would have earned enough to pay his way from Praxus far more quickly.

 

Both the injuries and the futility of all he had ever done exhausted Prowl to the very core of his spark, and he limped and struggled from the washracks, and down the hall to his rooms. Part of the reason his living costs were high as they, compared to others employed by this brothel, was the fact that he had not one but two private rooms, though the closet that served as the Twins recharge space could hardly count as a proper room. Prowl’s was only a little bigger, just large enough for a berth. For the simplest single client sessions, this was where he took them, it was the same for all the buymechs. They all had a narrow berth, a chest for storage, and nothing else. In some ways Prowl preferred his deviant clients over those with simpler tastes, because he hated interfacing knowing the Twins were huddled together in their closet. He hated when they could hear him... work.

 

The door to his berthroom had stopped functioning properly stellar-cycles ago, and Prowl pushed it, manually, aside. He straightened as best he could, walked as evenly as he could as he stepped into his room, wanting desperately not to scare his mechlings too badly with his condition. Except they were not there. Immediately, Prowl’s spark flared with fear, he knew full well Sunstreaker and Sideswipe only used that closet to hide, and to recharge. If their buymech originator was not working from his berth, they preferred to entertain themselves on the floor of his room. Before he pushed the adjoining door aside, Prowl knew they would not be there. They were not, and Prowl’s spark went cold.

 

They ran wild during the light-cycle, before clients came to utilize the buymechs services. In the joors where the other mechlings were in school, the Twins played in the courtyard, with or without Prowl. At this joor though they should have been waiting for him to return, they always waited for him to return. Though really they should have long been in recharge, late as it was, Sideswipe had actively refused to do so if his originator was not there, and Sunstreaker went along with his twin’s desires. It was not as though Sideswipe would have let him recharge if he had ever tried. Where could they be? It was late, so late that every other sparkling or mechling would have been recharging.

 

Somehow, even though every single step was agonizing, Prowl ran. He ran down the hall, ran past the private lounges where the other buymechs were still serving the larger groups, ran past the public bath, and those cheap painted crystals. Though the buymech heard gasps, he did not acknowledge them, did not pause to acknowledge the raised voices. When he reached the courtyard, Prowl lurched to a stop, clinging to the narrow column at the top of the stairs, else he would fall to the floor. The courtyard was empty, his mechlings were not there. Where, Primus, where were they? Truly afraid now, the Praxian pushed away from the column, and came very close to falling, but he could not, he could not fall, if he fell it would be joors before he could find his peds again.

 

He turned from the courtyard, and staggered as quickly as he could back into the brothel. Could they have run? It was something he had always feared, as much as he wished them, wished them and himself freedom, they were too young, too sheltered to survive the streets of Praxus. Emforcers would not care if someone hurt them, they were not Praxian, they were not tourists, so as far as the authorities were concerned, they were beneath their noticed. But they might have, they could have, they blamed themselves for their originator’s degradation. His precious mechlings. Prowl knew he could not jump the walls, physically or legally. It would be clear to all what he was, his naked spark was testimony to that, else he would have run vorns ago, when Desecrus had taken over, after that first disgusting client. But Schema had taken his panels and, Desecrus was depraved for certain, but he was unfortunately not fool enough to give them back.

 

“Pantera you can’t be running around here like that!” Rapidfire, the current favourite of Desecrus, exclaimed. “You’re disturbing the customers!”

 

“Where are the Twins?” Prowl demanded, his voice rough with pain and panic. “There is nothing you do not see here, is there not? You say that a dozen times a mega-cycle at least. Where are they?”

 

“Go to your rooms, when they turn up, I’ll return them,” the purple buymech said. His optics were too bright a red, which might have been blamed on Syk, but he was not fidgetting, and not flushed with condensation. He was pointedly not making optic contact. The mech was not a good liar.

 

“Where are my creations?” The disgraced Enforcer demanded, pushing himself straight, his doorwings spread wide. He was no taller than Rapidfire, but he knew how to intimidate the mech.

 

“Desecrus took them to the cells,” Rapidfire squeaked.

 

Prowl jerked back, and almost lost his peds. The cells were where buymech served the worst clients possible. Prowl had dragged himself up the stairs from that den of torment under a joor before. Why were the Twins down there. Primus, could they have heard it all? Horrified by this information, afraid for what Desecrus might have planned for his creations, Prowl whipped around and moved to run back down those stairs. Rapidfire stepped into his path, spread out his arms and blocked the lesser buymech. Restraint burnt to ash, Prowl stared the mech down as he staggered to a stop.

 

“Get out of my way,” Prowl ordered, a commanding tone he had not had cause to use in a very long time.

 

“You can’t disturbed the master,” the favourite said.

 

There was no time to argue, and frankly Prowl was not in the mood to. He pulled back his servo and punched Rapidfire in the helm, before the purple mech could think to react. The favourite fell, and fell hard. To his misfortune, and to the originator’s distinct pleasure, Rapidfire fell with his full weight on his right doorwing, and dislocated with an ugly snap. No one came running to see the carnage; the sounds of interface had covered up the sounds of the fight. One of the benefits to being the favourite was the privilege of a weapon, not really meant to defend against unruly patrons so much runaway whores. Prowl rooted through Rapidfire’s subspace and stole the etched silver blaster from within. For all it was a tacky piece, Prowl turned it over and confirmed it was a working weapon. Holding a weapon in his servos for the first time since the Enforcer decals had been roughly stripped from his doorwings, the monochrome Praxian had a moment of total clarity. This would be the dark-cycle. Though the risk of flight was more than just great, staying now was just as risky a prospect. Prowl gritted his dented as he grabbed the unconscious Praxian by the around the wrists and dragged him off to the sitting parlour the purple buymech lorded over. It would not buy a fortune’s time, but it would buy enough. For good measure, Prowl jammed the parlour door. With Rapidfire secured, he turned and raced down the stairs as fast as he could in his current condition.

 

It should have been torturous, and really it was, but fear made his frame numb to pain. Prowl moved quickly, if awkwardly, down through the cells. In Schema’s mega-cycle, this had be a vault to store engex, and illicit booze. Now it hid a no less illegal practice. He had not forgotten his training, the knowledge was strangely reassuring to Prowl. Though he moved quickly, and though he was panicked, the buymech still managed to move silently. As he let his tactical systems take over, it became an Enforcer exercise, and even as kliks passed, Prowl did not give in to panic. Finally he heard voices, the originator took a moment to ensure the blaster was charged, and set for lethal force. Utterly silent, the disgraced Enforcer slowly inched around the corner.

 

“Once your upgraded you’ll earn your keep,” Desecrus crooned at the Twins as they knelt at his peds, facing each other, a bottle of engex dangled from his servo. “Naturally some of the proceeds will go to your energon and upkeep, but I’ll put a generous portion towards all the debts your origin has earned thanks to you lot. Won’t it be nice to take the pressure off your origin? You’re such burdens. You know he wouldn’t be here if not for you ugly scraplets. It’s high time you earn your own keep. You’ll make good credit when you debut. We’ll have an auction for your first client. But first you need to be trained. Open your panels... Touch each other...”

 

The mech dropped dead as the last glyph left his glossa. Prowl fired the blaster, and shot him through the spark before the thought to do so had finished circling through his processor. None of the buymechs in this or any other brothel were foreign-frames. What migrants might find themselves working as prostibots in Praxus did so on the streets, they were not considered worth the cost of housing. This very fact had been Prowl’s only comfort as he had watch his mechlings grow in this den of licentiousness. It had not stopped him from watching the optics of those around him, Desecrus had never done more than sneer at the mechlings, he had never cast them a lecherous glance. Prowl had never imagined this was something he would have wanted.

 

“O’gin!” Sideswipe exclaimed. “Oh! O’gin! What did they do to you?”

 

“Never mind, Sideswipe,” Prowl replied, pointedly turning his back on the dead brothel master as he fought against the urge to purge. “There is no time. I need a blanket, something to cover me while we escape.”

 

“I got it!” Sunstreaker said, running into one of the empty cells. Sideswipe was frozen in place. He stared as his originator.

 

“I am alive, Sideswipe, my love,” the buymech soothed his creation, as he fell to his knees, he pulled his mischievous mechling into his arms for a tight hug. “That is _all_ that matters. We are going to escape. We are going to run. If I stumble, I need you to keep going, to keep running. This is our only chance.”

 

“O’gin,” his mischievous mechling whimpered. “He made us listen. We didn’t want to. We covered our audials and he sent in more. He made us listen.”

 

“Sweetest spark, you are not to blame,” Prowl promised him. “You could never be to blame.”

 

Sunstreaker swept in a nanoklik later, squirming his way into his originator’s arms, the blanket forgotten beside them. Prowl felt the agony in his creations sparks as though it were his own. He held them tight, wrapped his field around them and flooded them with unconditional love. It was a poor comfort, too little for the horrific display they had been forced to witness. Thank Primus the originator had not screamed, he could not imagine how horrified they would have felt. This was enough, this was hideous enough. His bitlets had been forced to watch legions of mechanism entered and leave the cell, no doubt sharing their pleasure at all they had done to the uptight slut. So many things his precious mechlings never should have had to learn.

 

“We must run, mechlings,” the originator said. “There is a back door, just around the corner, locked to everymech but him. He will have the keys.”

 

He broke the hug, and forced himself to crawl over to the corpse. As he had with Rapidfire, Prowl dug through Desecrus’ subspace, slowly and methodically until he found the keycard. Along with the keycard, he found a credit slug. With the desperate hope that it would not be encrypted, the Praxian dropped it into his own subspace. Slowly turning on his knees, Prowl crawled back to the Twins, who were cuddled together, hiding their faces in each others necks. Someone would find Rapidfire eventually, or the mech would come around, sooner or later someone would find Desecrus’ greyed frame. They needed to be gone before this happened. He struggled to climb to his peds, his frame resisted every motion. It was only with his precious creations’ aid that the originator was able to stand. As soon as he was stable on his peds, with the Twins looking on, Prowl tied the blanket around his neck, and around his lower back. With the glow of his spark hidden, they would be able to blend into the shadows of the dimly lit streets of the Stews. Forcing himself to walk, the Twins trailing close behind, Prowl found the hidden door.

 

The sort of interface that went on in the cells was illegal, if the Enforcers ever raided the brothel, Desecrus would have planned to flee down here, out the door, into the back alleys and out of reach. He never would have planned for his murderer to make his escape out these doors, and there was a certain justice in that. Holding his ventilations, Prowl swiped the key card, and only released a vent when the door squeaked open. His plating clattered audibly, somehow the air smelled cleaner, though that must have been his imagination. Prowl beckoned the Twins out the door, and followed close behind them. The door shut behind them with another squeak. Ventilations coming quickly now, the intensity of the pain between his legs growing again, the originator held his twins to him as he listened. There was no sound of movement, no speaking, no ped steps. Taking each twin by the servo, Prowl limped quickly down the alleyway.

 

A path illuminated in his HUD, and he followed it without thinking. Early in his service as Praefectus Vigilum, Prowl had uncovered the locations of some Praxian stops along the free-road, a network of anonymous homes and businesses that smuggled fugitives to safety in other city-states. The “road” began in Kaon, and spanned across the whole of Cybertron. When he had first stumbled upon the Praxian sites, he had intended to organize an Enforcer raid, but at the last moment, had decided against it. Back then, Prowl had decided if even a single abused or threatened mechanism was able to escape his or her tormentors through this route, it was worth the chance criminals might use it too. Under the light of the moons, the originator felt the urge to weep. There was no way he could ever have imagined he would have had cause to use the free-road back then, but he would be grateful always that he had chosen to break the rules just this one time.

 

As the moons set and the sun’s first rays glowed on the horizon, Prowl’s legs began to buckle under him. There was no time to rest, no time to linger, but it was increasingly difficult to walk on. He leaned on his brave creations, and when he thought he could not take another step, they pushed him to keep moving. When he said they should leave him, the Twins forced him onward. Finally, in the earliest joors of the light-cycle, they arrived at the small clinic, at the very edge of the Stews. Just as he let out a relieved vent, Prowl’s legs finally gave out and he collapsed at the front entrance. The streets were quiet now but that would not last much longer. They needed to make their way to the alley, to the side door...

 

Sunstreaker hammered on the door with more force than you would ever expect from a sparkling, even his age. Sideswipe crouched next to Prowl, his optics scanning the street, standing guard over his originator as his twin railed against the door. The windows lit up after no more than a klik. Prowl could not stop his frame from shaking. Though his every instinct demanded he pull the blaster from his subspace, the originator knew he would be as much a danger to his creations as the mechanism moving within the clinic. Still, it was almost impossible not to follow his originator protocols, almost. Sideswipe’s lean frame all but folded against his, Prowl looped his arm around his red creation’s waist. When Sunstreaker moved to beat against the door again, it flew open and he tumbled forward.

 

“There, there little mech,” a warm voice crooned. “Where’s the fire?”

 

“Fire?” Sunstreaker asked, with a bit of a snarl. “It’s my o’gin. I thought you were a medic.”

 

“Just a figure of speech, mechling,” the green mech said, just as warmly, despite Sunstreaker’s snarl. He looked down to Prowl, partly hidden by Sideswipe who stood over him, his plating flared out. “Well, let me take a look young one. It’s alright, I’m a medic, I’m not in the habit of hurting frightened bitlets and origins.”

 

“I don’t wanna,” Sideswipe grumbled. “How we know we can trust you, h’uh? The other medic didn’t give a flying frag about o’gin. Or anyone else.”

 

“Some medics don’t deserve their insignias,” the medic said. “I’m Hoist. What are you three called?”

 

“He’s Sunny,” the red twin gestured to his brother.

 

“I’m Sunstreaker!” His twin retorted. “He’s Sideswipe. Our o’gin’s Prowl.”

 

“Good to meet you three,” Hoist said. “Let me take a look at your o’gin, Sideswipe.”

 

Sideswipe relented, though he did not move away. Rather, he sat down at Prowl’s side, and his posturing made it clear the sparkling would move no further. Hoist knelt in front of them as Sunstreaker stepped around and leaned against his brother. It was an exhausting gesture, but the injured originator raised his servo and stroked the helms of both his mechlings, doing all that he could to put them at ease. He felt a tingle as the medic’s scanners passed over his frame. Though it made his plating itch in an odd way, the buymech did not fidget. Immediately after the medic finished with him, his scanners turned to the Twins. Neither mechling had experienced the sensation before, and both fidgeted, not as though it effected the scanners’ accuracy.

 

“You’re in rough shape, my friend. I think we’d all feel better after you’re in the clinic,” the green mech said. “Prowl, I’m going to lift you up and carry you. I don’t think there’s a way to do it where it won’t hurt. Mechlings, why don’tcha follow me. You’ll all be safe with me, I promise you that.”

 

Prowl braced himself for pain. The medic looped an arm under his legs, and another around his back, and stood. No question it hurt, but not nearly so badly as he had expected. Hoist had a gentle touch, and he was strong. There was kipple extending on his back, not quite doorwings, but it hinted to Praxian heritage, though they would not have been enough to grant the medic Praxian citizenship. It was absolutely reassuring, Hoist would owe Praxus no loyalty, and no small amount of distaste. The damaged buymech’s senses faded for a moment, only to flare to life again as the medic lowered him on a medberth. A hiss of pain escaped him before he could stop it.

 

“I wonder mechlings, if you’d like to watch a show while I take care of your o’gin?” Hoist asked.

 

The mech in question raised his helm, and watched as the medic let the twins to an imager in the corner of the room, and turned it on. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had never had the chance to watch cartoons and as the fanciful images and silly dialogue projected from the imager, they were immediately entranced. Hoist guided the sparklings down onto the cushions in front of the imager, and draped a blanket over them before he returned to Prowl. When he did, Hoist pulled a privacy screen to block the mechlings from seeing the examine, and the originator was beyond grateful for this courtesy.

 

“Thank you,” Prowl said, his voice has hoarse with pain he had become too exhausted to repress.

 

“It’s my honour as a medic,” the green mech replied. “I’m going to cut off the blanket, rather than untie it. I think that’ll be easier for you. Those sparklings are due for upgrades.”

 

“They are,” the buymech agreed. “It has been difficult scheduling a time, and spending the credits.”

 

“I understand,” Hoist said, and it felt like a benediction. “They’re healthy mechlings, despite the conditions you must have had to raise them in. Before I send you on the road, I’ll help them upgrade. You’ll need to rest a while before you can make the journey, there’ll be time enough for it.”

 

“We cannot stay long,” Prowl replied, fear rising in his spark, and choking him. “I killed a mech to get away. Enforcers will be looking for me.”

 

“They won’t look here,” the medic assured him. “I don’t legally exist, this place exist for for mechanisms like your bitlets and me, the Enforcers don’t know it exists. Even if they looked here, and no Enforcer ever has, this treatment room is behind a false wall. The best engineer in the world built it. Under scans it registers as solid thanks to the materials Jack used. You’ll be safe. I’ll see to it.”

 

“It is difficult to imagine,” the Praxian said. An Enforcer had known of the clinic, and its location, he had, but Prowl elected not to mention this, for fear Hoist would cast them out. As the medic had said he would, Hoist cut the blanket away. Prowl was laid bare again, it was surprisingly humiliating.

 

“I don’t doubt it is,” Hoist replied, and Prowl wondered if he had teeked his humiliation. “I’m going examine the damage to your plating first. Will you tell me how long you were in the brothel?”

 

“Fifteen hundred and seventy-seven stellar-cycles,” Prowl replied. “They were still newlings.”

 

“Their ‘genitor wouldn’t help?” The green mech asked. “Your family.”

 

“Their progenitor was gone before I knew I was carrying,” the buymech replied. “I believe he would have helped had he known. It was not meant to be a long term thing. It only lasted as long as he was touring in Praxus, I had no way of contacting him. My procreators drained my personal accounts before I could access them, after I was dismissed from my function for gross misconduct, for carrying foreign sparks. I found myself with nothing. No one would hire me, not even the better brothels, not if I insisted on keeping them. They were mine, I would never give them up.”

 

“The health of those mechlings is a testimony for what you were willing to do to see them grow,” Hoist said. “I’ll give you the digits of some medics that might be worth talking to. The three of you have survived the Pit, but surviving the Pit comes with some scars. I’m going to put your peds in stirrups to examine your valve. Before I start the exam, I’m going to give you a strong buffer. You shouldn’t feel anything. If you feel like recharging, don’t worry about fighting it.”

 

At some point during the examine, did Prowl drift off, despite a token resistance. He felt nothing as Hoist did his work, though he distantly heard the whirl of tools. When he came around again he was numb, and his thought processes were slow and cloudy. As the fog slowly cleared, his vision came into focus, and he found the medic looking down at him. Hoist gently described his injuries and what would need to be done to repair them. Out of his line of sight, he heard the Twins cackling merrily along with the imager. When was the last time he had heard that sound? It had become impossible to hide as much of the torment Prowl experience mega-cycle after mega-cycle as they had grown older. They had matured too quickly as a result. Maybe now they would get to be mechlings. Maybe they would be able to climb, and race and play. The medic gave him a stronger sedative, as he settle in to begin the repairs. Listening to the sound of the Twins laughter, Prowl drifted off again.

 

“I’ve given them the minerals they need to prepare for the upgrades,” Hoist explained when Prowl woken completely late the next mega-cycle. “I’ve brought in a couple of specially programmed CR chambres. They’ll recharge through it, completely painlessly, just like they’re supposed to. In the meantime, I don’t want you leaving that berth. I’ve repaired the internal damage, but the nanite plug needs to do the rest.”

 

Hoist wasted no time, once Prowl was properly alert and could grant consent, and the mechlings were well fuelled, he put them in the CR chambers, though it took some convincing from their originator, and a few joors were of snuggles. Once the protocols were activated, all that was left for Prowl to do was lay there and wait. The time was not wasted, however. Bit by bit the medic repaired both Prowl’s plating and protoform, and he constructed new armour for his chassis, and a new modesty panel as well. It was a funny thing to be whole after so long living as half a mechanism, to know he could walk down the street and no one would give him even a sideways glance. No one in Iacon, because it was Iacon that Prowl had decided would be their final destination, would ever know the function he had been forced to perform, and he felt an indescribable sense of relief.

 

Though the surgical repairs were complete, the work of the Praxian’s self-repair systems was not yet done. The demands on these systems was great, and even fuelling only on medgrade, Prowl recharge more than he was awake. On a whole that was not so terrible, it was easier on his psyche to recharge rather than watch and worry over the Twins. Hoist said everything was going along in a textbook fashion, but it was natural for the originator to worry. So he followed medics orders and remained in the berth, recharged and built his strength. When the Twins were ready they would drive for the Crystal City, from there Prowl hoped to buy transport to Iacon, and a bright new future.

 

“Which of your procreators was Praxian?” Prowl asked in a moment of lucidity.

 

“My ‘genitor,” Hoist replied. “He was a good medic, taught me a lot before he sent me to the Academy in Iacon. He set up this clinic, millions of stellar-cycles ago. When he passed he left it to a trust, he couldn’t leave it to me, of course. But the trust leaves it to me to manage. He was one of the founders of the free-road. This clinic was one of the original stops.”

 

“I will be eternally grateful he saw to your education,” the former buymech said. Former, he insisted. He would never think of himself as a buymech again. “I have taught the Twins as best as I can. There are great gaps in their education.”

 

“You might not have had the resources my ‘genitor did, but you’ve done well by them, I think,” the medic replied. “They can read and write, they understand math. With those basics, they’ll catch up with everything else quick enough. You’ll see... From your accent though, I can guess you had a higher education.”

 

“They are wealthy, had they wished to, they could have seen the Twins set up with tutors,” Prowl explained. The bitterness remained, but his voice was hollow. “I had no way out of Praxus. Only that brothel would hire me. I did not imagine I would be there so long. I saved every tip, every single credit but something always happened to spike my debt. Obviously the master was falsely adding to it, but what could I do? I am an outcast, a registered buymech of the lowest order. No Enforcer would care to listen to me.”

 

“That’s an unfortunately common trap,” Hoist said. “I’m sorry your procreators robbed you, that’s a sick thing. Don’t worry about credits. The free-road has a fund for this sort of thing. We’ll get you where you want to go. Whatever credits you have are yours to keep.”

 

Prowl did not weep. Instead he let his helm drop, let his consciousness fade. He had never considered that the free-road would be charity. No, he had thought it was another smuggling route. The events of these fifteen hundred and seventy-seven stellar-cycles need never have happened. Over these many stellar-cycles he had interfaced with hundreds of strange mechs, endured every kind of depraved interface a hundred fold, and he could have escape Praxus without ever submitting to this degradation. He felt sick, and stained in a way he had not before. Though Prowl reasoned the free-road operated on rumour, you were not meant to know how it worked, it did nothing to ease his self-disgust. Because he had not recognize that other mechanisms might be generous, because his own background had painted the world as selfish, and jaded, he had not seen the free-road for what it would actually be. Recharge came up and claimed him again, this time with all his missteps to haunt his memory fluxes.

 

End Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Watching the Twins stagger out of the CR chambers was not unlike watching their emergence all over again. They were suddenly so tall, their helms would be close to his shoulders now. Prowl thought they were destined to be taller than him when they had reached their final height. They were, the originator realized, only a little shorter than their progenitor. For whatever reason, the triggered both an intense longing and an intense grief in Prowl’s spark. It had only been a fling, had never been meant to be anything else, but Jazz had had a warm, bright spark, and an easy laugh, and had focused all that warmth and light on the Praxian, if only for one season. Prowl did not know if he would have wanted to stop his vagabond life, but Jazz would have loved them, and would have done anything for them for that love, of course the originator could not truly be certain, and yet he was. Their progenitor would have loved them if Prowl had had anyway to contact him. But he had only had the number to the Polihexian’s temporary Praxian commlink, which had been disconnected when the troupe had moved on.

 

It had never been more than a fling, Prowl had taken the handsome musician into his berth fully aware that it could never had been more. He had known that the affair would be scandalous if ever uncovered, but the Praxian had been drawn to Jazz, inexplicably and inescapably drawn after seeing him perform, and interfacing with him had been one of his rare rebellions against Praxian values, and it had been a wonderful experience. The mech had worshipped Prowl’s frame with every touch, wrung pleasurable overload after overload from him, and when Jazz had gone, the then Praefectus Vigilum had been happy to have the memories. They had been happy memories, happy until stellar-cycles later when he had finally gone to a medic to discover the cause of his exhaustion and increased fuel consumption.

 

The Twins had already detached from his spark and dropped into his forge before Prowl’s had noticed. It was not until that appointed that he had removed his armour and seen his forge noticeably distended. He had crashed, of course he had crashed. When he had come to he had listen to the medic list his options, and the grave implication that the sparks were of a different frequency than his, hinting that they would share their progenitor’s physiology. The medic had not known that the progenitor was a foreigh-mech, and Prowl had not shared this knowledge. Only when his forge had distended visibly under his armour had the Praxian revealed to his kin his condition. Unsurprising, his procreators had be aghast, his brother had seemed... amused. Whatever hopes he might have had, seeing their reactions had kept Prowl’s vocalizer mute, just earlier that same mega-cycle he had received confirmation that the twin newsparks he carried were not to be Praxian in frame.

 

Whether it had been wise, Prowl had not revealed this reality until he had evacuated the newlings. Somehow, he had thought his status would be enough protection. The poorly disguised disgust on the medic’s and nurses’ faces had given the new originator his first real sense of foreboding. Instead of taking the Twins home, his procreators had met him at the hospital and had officially, and publicly disowned him. Almost immediately after, the Enforcer had called him up, and while he had held the Twins in his arms, he had been forcibly stripped not just of his rank of Praefectus Vigilum, but of his place in the Enforcers all together. He had gone immediately to the credit reserve, to empty his accounts, only to find they had already been emptied.

 

Prowl had never petitioned for his procreators to change their processor, he had known they were set, known their sparks were cold and closed to him. But he had hailed his brother. He had commed Barricade as soon as he had discovered the theft, his brother had ignored his ping. When he could find no shelter but a drug den, Prowl had commed his brother, and when he had stood on the steps of the Crystalline Berth, Prowl had commed his brother a final time. At no point to Barricade ever answer him, not even to tell him to go to Pit. In the miserable vorns that had followed, the disgraced Enforcer had never reached out to his brother again. Barricade betrayal had been worse than the betrayal of their procreators, worse than anything to come. His older brother had always been his protector as they had grown up, he had always protected Prowl from the mechlings and adults who would abuse him for his processor glitch. Yes, there could be no betrayal worse than Barricade’s.

 

“You are both so big!” He exclaimed, chasing away those painful thoughts.

 

The originator opened his arms, and his newly upgraded creations dove into them. They clung to him, almost crushed him with the force of their hug. Prowl could not stop the tears pooling in his optics, though he tried to blink them away. Before their upgrades, their audials been too large for their little frames. Really, their horns were still large, as expected of Polihexians. Sunstreaker’s looked distinctly different, like fins on the sides of his helm, where Sideswipe were not dissimilar to their progrenitor’s. Nothing could have made Prowl think they were ugly, but they had taken a huge leap into growing into their components. Their servos and peds were still noticeably large, against their lanky limbs. Through the next serveral vorns they would face more upgrades, and they would gain height, mass, and power. When they faced their final upgrades Prowl was certain both would be a helm or more taller than him.

 

They were beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Prowl would die before they saw the inside of a brothel again. No one would touch his creations. From now on, he would keep them safe. The stain of the brothel would not follow them to Iacon. He would see to it that they had all that they could want in life, he would give whatever he had to to make it so, it could cost no more than merely evacuating them had. As the originator held tight to his now youngling creations, Prowl cracked a small smile. Life ahead would be better, for all three of them. After breams, the Twins stepped back and it was almost hard to let them even step that far away.

 

“You two are in excellent working order,” Hoist declared. “You might feel some aching in your joints, it’s common after an upgrade, but that’ll pass. Your origin’s doing great too. Once I get him painted, he’ll be just about good as new.”

 

“Can I paint you, o’gin?” Sunstreaker asked. His yellow mechling had always taken care of his finish at the brothel. He had covered their small habsuite in sketches made on stolen bits of canvass. Prowl’s smile widened.

 

“Of course,” Prowl replied. “How ever you like, sweetling.”

 

Not one to be left out, Sideswipe knelt with Sunstreaker as his artistic brother plotted his design. To prepare for the detailing, Prowl allowed Hoist to strip his colour nanites. Unlike the washrack in the brothel, the shower in Hoist’s clinic was comfortably warmly. When he stepped out of the shower, his plating was a uniform grey. Though he was a little afraid what his colourful creations intended for him, it was so clearly important to Sunstreaker to do his paint so if the Twins wanted him aquamarine, that is what he would be. Naturally they did not show Prowl their plans, and he did not insist on seeing them. Instead he stood silently, in the centre of the room, and let Sunstreaker paint. Sideswipe made himself useful by holding the paints, but like with any of his twin’s projects, the mischievous brother knew better than to try and “help”.

 

Prowl stared straight ahead, unwilling to disappoint his creations by spoiling the surprise. In the end, the Praxian meditated. It was a practice he had continued off and on even through the vorns in the brothel. Mostly he had not had time to in the Crystalline Berth, what free time he had possessed was spend teaching and loving his creations, and so there had rarely been a moment’s time to meditate. After a considerable time, after Sideswipe had abandoned his brother to watch cartoons, Prowl felt Sunstreaker reach up and apply paint to his chevron. He kept his optics offline, not wanting to even sneak a glance at this small touch of paint. Only after his artistic creation applied a uniform sealant to the whole of his frame did Prowl online his optics.

 

“I’ve got a mirror over here,” the medic said. “Mechlings, why don’t you take your origin over to take a look.”

 

“Shutter your optics,” Sunstreaker ordered. “Sides, grab o’gin’s servo. We’ll lead him over.”

 

Sideswipe did as he was commanded, and he took Prowl’s left servo and Sunstreaker took his right, and they walked him across the room. Naturally, the Praxian did not rely alone on his creations to guide him, he flared his doorwings out, and used their sensors to avoid any stumbles. The Twins stopped him, a few steps back the mirror, good range to see his whole frame in good detail. He felt his creations shiver with excitement, and his spark swelled in response. There had been no cause for excitement before. Not the anniversary of their emergence, not the festivals. However gaudy or bland the design might be, Prowl thought he would live with it, he would certainly make certain they believed he love it, and because they had designed it, because Sunstreaker had done it, the originator thought he would learn to love it whatever the case.

 

“Sides, o’gin, count of three,” the yellow brother said, and in unison with Sideswipe he counted down. “1...2...3!”

 

“Well, o’gin, what do you think?” Sideswipe asked his originator stared at his refection.

 

“Some how I thought you would choose something more colourful,” Prowl said.

 

The mech looking back and him was white and black, the same colours he had been all his adult life. Though the break up of the colours was different, there was considerably more white than black, compared to before. His chassis was white on top, and black along the base. Both his shoulders, helm, lower legs and servos were white, while his pelvic segment was black, as well as the bulk of his doorwings, save for the white upper rim. As was standard on his frametype, his upper legs and midsection were grey protoform, the same shade as his face. There was only a single accent colour on all his frame, Sunstreaker had painted his chevron a strong red. He thought, as he looked himself over, that he looked like him, but new.

 

“Do you like it, o’gin?” Sunstreaker asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

 

“I love it, Sunstreaker,” the originator replied, and he turned and held his creation tight, before he turned to hug Sideswipe. “It is perfect. I cannot imagine a more perfect paint job.”

 

“I thought about blue,” his budding artist said. “But you’ve always been black and white, I couldn’t see you any other way.”

 

“You were right,” Prowl replied. “My clever mechling. I have always been black and white, these are my colours. I think the chevron was a sharp touch.”

 

“You really like it?” Sunstreaker asked again.

 

“Yes, brightspark,” the Praxian promised. “I like it very well.”

 

“You look like a new mech,” Hoist observed. “Quite perfect. I wonder, mechlings if you’d like to touch up your own paint, I have a bucket load of finishes.”

 

“Doesn’t look like you do anything fancy,” Sideswipe said. “Why do you have so many?”

 

“For when mechlings like you come along,” the medic replied.

 

After a great deal more deliberation, the Twins chose their colours. It was something of a surprise, to the originator to find they both select shades of their original colours. Perhaps like their originator had always been black and white, they saw themselves as red and yellow. While Sideswipe trusted Sunstreaker to do his paint, Sunstreaker most definitely did not extend his brother the same trust. Prowl reigned his mischievous creation in, and with his little artist’s supervision, helped Sideswipe paint Sunstreaker a new, brighter yellow, covering his entire frame. The only break up of colour were accents of black on his legs, arms and his helm. Sideswipe broke up his red with bold splashes of white on his midsection, lower arms and upper legs. His pelvic armour was the exact same shade of black as Prowl’s. He would not have noticed this, the Praxian had not considered there would be more than one shade of black, Sunstreaker was quite happy to disabuse him of this notice.

 

“When you’ve finished recovering, I’ll give you what you need to make your way to the Hub in the Crystal City,” the green mech said.

 

“We will leave in the light-cycle,” Prowl declared. “I am safely mobile. The sooner we are gone from Praxus, the safer all three of us will be, your clinic as well.”

 

“Mechlings, why don’t you relax by the imager, I’m going to examine your origin, and have a talk,” Hoist said.

 

The Twins were happy enough to obey. Their upgrades had left them with lingering tiredness, and they had spent much of the mega-cycle hard at work. Hoist made a sweeping gesture towards the examine berth. Prowl obeyed the medic, as his creations had. He felt nothing in his interface array, absolutely nothing, and he knew this was because of the medic’s nanite plug, if he never felt again, he did not think it would matter, certainly it could not be worth the invasive, and telling surgery. After all the forced interface he had endured, Prowl doubted he would be capable of arousal again. Recognizing that he needed Hoist’s cooperation, the Praxian suppressed a cringe as he lay back on the berth and put his peds on the magnetize stirrups. When this exam was over, he would not be back in stirrups like these for vorns, if ever. He shuttered his optics and released a slow vent.

 

“When you’re ready, retract your panel,” the medic ordered, softly. “Take your time.”

 

Prowl might have liked to have claimed he retracted that newly installed piece of plating without a klik’s hesitation, but that was not the case. It took not one klik but an entire bream before the Praxian could will himself to draw that panel up, and bare his array. His ventilations came quickly, and Prowl thought he was going to overheat. Hoist waited. He waited out the panic, crooning softly. Eventually, it did pass, and Prowl’s was able to unlock his clenched servos. As the medic did a visual exam, he told the Praxian exactly what he was doing, before he did it, and it was a considerable help. Before he continued to the internal exam, Hoist asked for Prowl’s consent, this too help. Thanks to the plug, the former buymech did not feel he medic’s touch, his valve was numb, and he was absolutely grateful for this. At the end of it all, after a small eternity, Hoist explained that he was going to insert another nanite plug, to ensure the delicate sensors and filaments healed completely.

 

“The plug’ll dissolve in a quartex,” Hoist explained as Prowl locked the panel back into place. “You should regain sensation within an orn of it dissolving. If you have any pain, you need to see a medic. I’ve already given you the commlinks to a few I recommend. Don’t push yourself. You still have healing, all three of you have healing left to do.”

 

“Thank you, Medic Hoist,” Prowl said, he pulled his legs from the stirrups, his ventilations fully normalized again. “For everything you have done.”

 

“It’s what I’m here for,” the medic replied. “I’ll arrange a Convoy to come by in the light-cycle. I’ll escort you as far as the Crystal City.”

 

“Should you really leave the clinic?” The Praxian asked.

 

“Someone from the trust will take my place while I’m gone,” Hoist explained. “I’ve supplies to restock, and no merchant in Praxus will sell it to me, this is a good excuse to get that chore out of the way.”

 

“If I ever have the opportunity, is there a way to make a donation to the free-road?” Prowl asked. “Some mega-cycle I would like to ease the way for another in my position.”

 

“I’ll give you the information,” the green mech said, and he smiled wide. “Mechlings, time recharge, with the light-cycle comes a whole new world for you to discover.”

 

In the end, Hoist had to push another examine berth over to the one Prowl had been occupying. The Twins refused to recharge, unless they were curled together with him. To be fair, he felt considerably more at ease when their warm frames were tucked up against his. After so long living in the Pit, it was difficult to totally believe that they were free. He barely recharged that dark-cycle, coming in and out of recharge at even the slightest sound. Desecrus’ blaster remained in his subspace, and if Enforcers came for him, their former chief would not go without a bloody price. The originator did recharge eventually, long enough to suffer memory purges of the brothel, and an Enforcer raid. When he jerked upright, his twins dragged him back down, and cuddled closer, their juvenile fields brushed against his, warm, and dozy. Before Hoist appeared, announcing the start of the light-cycle, Prowl had fallen into recharge again, this time without memory purges.

 

“Drink some fuel, we’ll leave as soon as my friend gets here,” Hoist declared. He gave the younglings cubes of mid-grade with sweet additives that would also help their newling upgrades frames. To Prowl, he gave a pale blue cube of med-grade. “I’ll give you enough med-grade stores to last you a couple of quartexes. No sense straining your self-repair systems.”

 

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

 

He had thanked the medic at least a dozen times since they had arrived, but it still did not feel like enough. They fuelled, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker nestled into his sides. It was a rather domestic moment, and his spark fluttered softly at this thought. For the first time, for the first time in so long, Prowl felt hope a surge of hope for the future. As promised, Hoist loaded the Praxian’s subspace with med-grade, more than just a couple of quartexes worth. Along with it he gave Prowl a significant store of med-grade and minerals for the Twins. He was being over generous, how could he help others if he bankrupted himself for their sake. Prowl wanted to argue, looked up and Hoist, the glyphs on his glossa, but the medic shook his helm, and smiled kindly.

 

“You deserve every bit of help,” Hoist said, and he squeezed Prowl’s shoulder. “I know you’ll make the most of it. You’ll build an amazing life for you and your bitlets.”

 

Prowl would give all that was left within him to do just that, but he could not made himself believe _he_ deserved so much aid. The Twins deserved it, they deserved the world, but the Praxian could not help but look at his past actions through jaded optics. Though he had not been a cruel mech, he had not been warm. He had not been charitable, though he had not been greedy. Even with his creations’ warm frames pressed into his sides, Prowl felt cold, and brittle. His bitlets needed him to be strong, and level helmed, and he fell back on an old habit, and funnelled the ATS more power than he had in some time. It would do him no good to weigh his sins against his good deeds on the metaphorical scales, but he found himself unable to stop.

 

“Broadside’s here,” the medic declared, wrenching Prowl from his self-destructive thought loop. He looked at Prowl with knowing optics, the originator looked down at the Twins. “He’s waiting a couple of streets down. Frame like his doesn’t fit down alleys without a load of grease and curses. Stick close to your origin, mechlings. Follow me, Prowl.”

 

The originator had been prepared for the fear. It fell over him, and gripped his spark in cold, sharp talons, and stole his ventilations. His limps locked, and Prowl’s every instinct told him to run, to hide, to never come out again. He could not do this. He could not step out into the open streets and the unknown. He could not cower, could not break, and let down his creations. Large servos took his, and guided him forwards, and very honestly on autopilot, the Praxian followed. Prowl felt his twins’ arms crossed over his back. Bit by bit his vision cleared, though the panic remained, clawing at his throat, a scream just a trigger away from breaking. Hoist led them on, let them down quiet streets, field exuding confidence and reassurance. Finally, finally Prowl saw the mech, their transport. The behemoth was hiding, as well as a mech his size could expect to, in the shadows of the gatehouse. There should have been Enforcers standing guard, but as the disgraced Praefectus Vigilum had had the unfortunate luck to learn, many of the Enforcers assigned to the gates would slip away at some time or another to make use of the buymechs in any of thirty brothels located within the Stews. Hoist and his associates in the free-road must have known.

 

“Broadside, my friends Prowl, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe,” the green mech introduced the frightened family to their rescuer. “My friends, Broadside. How fast do you think we can get to the Crystal City?”

 

“A cycle and a half,” the big mech spoke with deep voice that matched his size. “That’s my record. Been lookin’ for a chance to break it.”

 

Without another glyph, he transformed. The Convoy’s trailer was designed to be a troop carrier. It would be a considerably more comfortable journey than sitting amongst cargo as Prowl had been expecting. Hoist watched and waited as Prowl assured the Twins on board, and climbed up himself. There were many seats to choose from, all of them empty, but without a nanoklik’s hesitation, Prowl led the Twins to the farthest most seats were one long row. Rather than force his mechlings to sit in separate seats, as all the other seating would require, the bench allowed them to stay close together. As soon a they were seated, his mechlings moulded themselves to his sides, tucked low enough not to offend his doorwings. Prowl released a vent he had not been aware he was holding. Within the klik, Broadside was rolling on at a surprisingly good clip.

 

“What will we do at the border?” Prowl asked as he stroked his mechlings’ backs.

 

“There are huge swaths of wall unguarded,” Hoist explained. “Broadside’s got the current data on which of our... side doors to use. We’ve got some tricks if we need them, but the border between Praxus and the Crystal City is not militarized. And we have a particularly good friend on the inside.”

 

It was out of his servos, but Prowl could not help but worry. In fact he agonize over all the ways this could end in disaster. He tried to reassure himself, for all the good it did, the free-road had never been infiltrated, not in millenia, and the murder of a brothel keeper was not likely to garner much Enforcer attention. The designation Pantera would mean nothing to anyone, at no point in all the vorns Prowl had endured in the Crystal Berth had he ever given one of those clients or buymechs his true designation. A select few clients knew, some of the worst... no the worst of the lot. These were either, had been either former Enforcers who had been dismissed for their conduct, or low ranking Enforcers with long histories of misconduct and behavioural issues who had somehow yet managed to keep their posts. They had come across Prowl when Desecrus had opened up the Cells. These mechs who should have seen their functions terminated and their in some cases their freedom ended for a time, had become his most regular customers. They were why the former Praefectus Vigilum had refused to scream, cry or beg. These mechs had come to the Crystal Berth orn after orn to humiliate him, to avenge themselves on the superior who had either stripped them of their functions, or who had reprimanded them and otherwise ensured they would never see a promotion. Screaming would have given them a pleasure Prowl had never been willing to provide.

 

There was a chance, actually a rather high chance, that Desecrus’ death would never be brought to Enforcer attention. Prowl relaxed a little against the bench’s firm cushion as he considered the implications. Even if someone moved Desecrus’ frame, metaforensics would search the brothel from basement to roof as a matter of procedure. If that was done, the cells would be uncovered and it would be impossible to disguise what they had been for. His very mechfluid might yet stain that slab, at the very least there would be evidence of the debauchery, the lowly buymechs forced to clean for their fixes were not the most thorough of janitors. Rapidfire would have no trouble convincing those Enforcers amongst his patronage to turn a blind optic, for fear of their own legal troubles. It was actually very likely that Desecrus’ frame had been tossed out somewhere, perhaps into a nearby smelter. The Crystal Berth would carry on, likely with Rapidfire holding the keys, at least for now. No one was likely even looking for Prowl and his creations. Perhaps those most hated of his clients would have looked around a mega-cycle or two but none of them were involved in metaforensics, and their duty shifts would not have allowed them much time for any amateur investigation. In short, if Broadside were some how stopped near the border, it would not necessarily be a dire thing. For the first time, since his flight from the brothel had begun, Prowl felt a strong surge of relief. They could really, truly be save.

 

The drive to the border was set to take a mega-cycle and a half. After joors of recharge curled up against their originator, the Twins were awake enough and fidgety enough that Prowl wondered how well they could manage so much time contained in a small space. There was no question Broadside’s crew carrier was larger than his former rooms, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had only been confined their during the brothel’s operating joors, they had spent much of their light-cycles in the courtyard, which was still not much bigger, if it was bigger at all than the carrier, but it had been outdoors. Before the originator could worry over much about his creations disturbing either the Convoy or the medic, Hoist stood from his seat and joint them on the bench.

 

“A few things to keep you mechlings entertained,” Hoist said, and he held out two tablets.

 

“Thanks,” Sideswipe murmured as he investigated the new tech. He made a happy whoop when he found an entertainment app that played cartoons.

 

“Huh,” Sunstreaker said, and he looked over his own tablet. “Thanks.”

 

“There’s an art program,” the medic explained, and he brought it up for the yellow mechling. “Just take the stylus and you can make anything your spark can imagine. It’s simple but we can find something fancier if it’s not enough.”

 

“This is cool,” the youngling replied. To a mechling who had only ever had access to scrap canvas before, this was no small treasure. Though he did not voice it, Prowl felt the excitement bubbling through his creative creation.

 

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “I was concerned they would disturb you.”

 

“Never bring a youngling or sparkling on a transport without supplies,” Hoist replied. “Lesson I learned vorns ago. Do you need anything? I have a couple of book collections on datapad.”

 

“I am well for now,” the Praxian replied.

 

He could not recharge, though that would have been the smart thing, given the work his self-repair systems still had to do. But Prowl did not want to recharge; did not want to have memory purges, or even memory fluxes. As utterly thrilled and relieved as he was to be free of the brothel, the Praxian was also terrified. It had been so long since had been free to make his own choices, if he had ever really been free before, and this great leap into the unknown had him wishing he could find some hole to hide away in, to hide his creations away from this cruel world, but of course that was ludicrous. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been caged, as he had been, but for all their young lives. They had never raced down the street, never even gone to school, or to the store. Their lives had been stunted, and it was his job to face the world, to be their guide and shield, so they could rise beyond this brutal start. Prowl would not bow to fear.

 

“Will we stop at some point so Broadside can recharge?” Prowl asked after a while. Hoist lowered the datapad he was reading.

 

“Not until we’ve crossed the border,” the medic replied. “He’s got good fuel stores.”

 

“And I got a record to beat,” the mech in question declared, his deep voice had a disembodied quality. “The bench folds out into a berth, ‘n the chairs recline. When you need to nodded of, Hoist’ll show you what to do.”

 

Eventually, there was no resisting recharge, and Prowl and Hoist pulled the bench out to form the berth. From the storage beneath the converted bench, the ceaselessly helpful mech pulled thick warming blankets. The Praxian waited for his creations to decide how they wanted to settled on the narrow berth. Their decision, made largely without speaking, resulted in their originator laying on his side with Sideswipe tucked against his back, and his helm on Prowl’s hip, and his arm draped over his side. Sunstreaker curled against Prowl’s front, his servo and Sideswipe linked up, against Prowl’s midsection. It was not a surprise the Twins needed to touch each other to recharge, their closet sized berth had not been large enough to give them any space to spread out. Prowl’s own berth had been to small for them to curl up together on, never mind the fact that it had been tainted by its other purpose. In time, the Praxian thought he would encourage them to recharge apart from him, apart from each other, eventually. For the time being he thought they were owed this comfort, and in truth, he found their proximity so very reassuring. It was this proximity that allowed him to drop off into recharge, and if he purged or fluxed in the dark-cycle, he did not remember.

 

Though he could not see the sun’s light when he came awake, thanks to his chronometre, Prowl knew it was the light-cycle. Even as he onlined his optics, he brushed a servo against the warm frames pressed against his, reassuring himself that his twins were still with him. Desecrus had not stolen them from him. It would be some time yet before he was able to stop looking over his shoulder, if he ever was, but another dark-cycle and hundreds of kilometres of distance made him that much more at ease. Sideswipe nuzzled his servo, and Prowl stroked his creation’s helm. He was in no rush to rise, and neither were the mechlings. Sunstreaker gave him the briefest of nuzzles before rolling over and digging out his new tablet. Instead of starting another sketch, he brought up the entertainment app, and started a cartoon. Without being asked, he angled the tablet so that his brother could watch it too. The younglings relaxed as an anthropomorphic turbofox took them on a grand adventure. 

 

They would watched two more shows before laying supine lost its appeal, and the mechlings  spread out. Hoist appeared with energon for all three, and sat next to Prowl as the Twins sat shoulder to shoulder, exploring their tablets together  as they drank their energon. In the brothel they had generally guzzled the fuel before going on with their games, but of course that energon had not been anything like the quality of the fuel Hoist had given them. The brothel had not provided good quality energon to its buymechs, and though Prowl had used some of his tips to buy better energon for his creations when he could, it had still been a  far lower grade this this. He watched them sip their cubes, savouring the fuel.  It grieved him how much something simple as this effected them. How, he thought, as he looked down at the cube he was drinking, it effected him. This was not the only med-grade he had consumed in recent stellar-cycles. Known for being strong, and even bitter in flavour, Hoist’s med-grade energon was far easier to drink than the fuel he had been surviving on for vorns.

 

“You raised a clever pair of mechlings,” Hoist said, softly, drawing Prowl’s attention away from the Twins. 

 

“They are,” Prowl replied, equally quiet. “They are more adaptive then I have ever been. They never met him but they are more their progenitor’s creations then mine.”

 

“Did he die?” The medic asked.

 

“No,” the Praxian replied. “It was... just a brief romance. He was performing with a theatrical troupe in Praxus for a season. When the troupe moved on, he moved with it, exactly as we had planned. I did not realize I had experienced a procreao cycle until their spark dropped into my forge... I have a poor history of not paying attention to my frame.”

 

“You didn’t kindle again?” Hoist asked. There were harmonics to the question. He was giving Prowl permission not to answer. It was a medical inquiry, more than anything.

 

“I took a loan from the brothel for an inhibitor before I have my first client,” Prowl explained. “There are buymechs who have creations with every procreo cycle. There are clients who enjoy a carrying mech, and there are others than enjoying sparking one. They are a specially in the Crystal Berth.”

 

“Poor bitlets,” the green mech sighed. “Poor origins.”

 

“So many are addicted to boosters and Syk,” the former buymech said. “And so many newlings emerged addicted to. Many failed to thrive, many died without crying. That life seemed like more of a torment than mine.”

 

H is bitlets had been kindled in, if not love, attraction and respect, and Prowl had been unable to agree to such work, though it was what Schema had imagined him for. There were clients that had wanted to drink the energon from his fuel lines, but he had refused that  as well , no matter the tip offered. It might not have been the wisest of decisions, he could have used the credits, but that energon had been for his bitlets, and only them. Prowl had not wanted those precious moments with his newlings perverted by the lusts of mechs who paid for their pleasure. Refusing those credits had cost him over all, but looking back, the originator did not regret it. Those memories curled up with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were sweet ones, despite their grim surroundings, and there were no memories so precious to him than those. He thought these new memories , of the panicked flight to freedom ,  once  the fear and uncertainty faded would  come them for sweetness, but not yet. Their first mega-cycle at school would be sweet. Their first friends. Prowl would have a collection of precious memories to bury the memory-purges before a stellar-cycle past, and that was something to look forward to.

 

“O’gin, look!” Sideswipe exclaimed as he, some joors after they had woken, returned to his originator. Prowl wrapped his arm around his red twin’s back and looked down at the tablet. Sideswipe had found problem solving game on his tablet, and had achieved an impressive score.

 

“Well done, bright spark,” Prowl said, and he nuzzle his creation’s helm. “You will go to school in Iacon, when you’re ready. And you will be one of the cleverest younglings there. Sunstreaker, what have you been working on?”

 

“This,” Sunstreaker replied, and he came around to Prowl’s other side, nuzzling his originator’s helm as he sat. He showed Prowl his tablet. Sunstreaker had drawn a portrait of his Prowl’s profile, against a backdrop of stars. 

 

“It is beautifully done,” the Praxian said. “Why do you sketch me so much?”

 

“You’re the sun,” the young artist replied. He dropped his helm against his originator’s shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

 

“You, and Sideswipe, you my dear sparks, are beautiful,” Prowl said, wanting to weep not for the first time. They were such handsome younglings, they had been the most beautiful newlings their originator had ever laid optics on. But they saw themselves through Praxian optics, and those optics were not kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
>  Nanoklik: second  
>  Klik: minute  
>  Bream: 8 kliks  
>  Joor: Hour  
>  Mega-cycle: Day/20 joor  
>  Orn: Week/9 mega-cycles  
>  Decaorn: 10 orn  
>  Quartex: Month, 5 orn, 45 mega-cycle  
>  Stellar-cycle: Year/450 mega-cycles/10 quartexes  
>  Vorn: 83 stellar-cycles  
>  Comm speak -"  
>  Normal speak "  
>  Bond speak “italics”  
>  ATS: Advanced Tactical Systems  
>  Originator: “mother”, carrier  
>  Progenitor: “father”, sire  
>  Procreator: parent  
>  Contributive spark: spark better suited to “fathering” a creations  
>  Receptive spark: spark more likely to conceive creations.  
>  To kindle, to spark, to bud: to conceive  
>  Emergence: birth  
>  Apterium: Structure of lower doorwing joint.
> 
> Seasons:  
>  Winter: Frigus  
>  Spring: Saltus  
>  Summer: Calor  
>  Fall: Imber
> 
> Months:  
>  Primarii  
>  Solomnii  
>  Kinserii  
>  Theomachius  
>  Epistii  
>  Sigmus  
>  Adaptii  
>  Aureas  
>  Coventus  
>  Mortius


	3. Chapter 3

In the joors that followed, Prowl let himself be distracted by his creations. When they had still been very small, he had built a crude Triad board, and as they had developed he had taught them to play. Early in his explorations, Sideswipe had found app for the game on the tablet, and now he and Sunstreaker were happy to gang up against their originator. Prowl would buy them a proper board when he had the funds to do so, he promised himself this. The first games they played together, the Praxian let the Twins go wild. As the mega-cycle went on, the originator set the mechlings to play against each other, and taught them both strategies old and new. His dearsparks were closer than any brothers he had ever encountered, but they were still fiercely competitive, and they had distinctly different methods to their games. Sideswipe liked to set up traps, Sunstreaker favoured brute force. On the surface you might have guessed that the trickster twin would have had the advantage, but his creative brother was not simply a berserker throwing everything at a single target, he was judicious with his use of force. All in all, Prowl’s mechlings were evenly matched, and it was a joy to teach them, and to expand on their skills.

 

Of course, the mechlings were young and wild and it did not take terribly long before their games descended in who could make the more dramatic move. He chuckled softly at their antics. It was one of the greatest wonders in all of this, despite the environment he had been forced to raise them in, they still acted like, and thought like the mechlings they were, though in so many ways they were mature beyond their vorns. Prowl did not know how he would be able to let them go outside of his sight, but he knew the time would have to come, and quickly. There was no way he could hold them captive, they deserved to be free, he needed to give them the freedom to make mistakes, and to grow, even if the prospect terrified him already. The originator kissed their helms, as they played with reckless abandon. Just as he was about to show them a move himself, he felt Broadside come to a halt, and stark terror bubbled up his throat.

 

“Have we reached the border?” Prowl asked, trying to keep his voice level, and his frame under his control. Pouring every spare bit of processor power into his ATS was the only way he managed it. The Twins looked up from their game, first up at him, and then to Hoist.

 

“We crossed a few joors ago,” Hoist replied. “I thought it would be better if you were all distracted.”

 

“We’re not in Praxus anymore?” Sideswipe asked, excitedly. “Really? We’re really out?”

 

“Yes, Sideswipe,” the medic said. “Praxus is now joors behind you. Before we can enter the Crystal City itself, we need to meet the Omega Guardian. He’s waiting outside.”

 

Omega Guardians were relics of a time before the Golden Age, a time lost to Cybertron’s histories. It was recorded in the archives that only one of these mechanisms remained, and he was in service to the Towers of the Crystal City. Omega Supreme was taller than many buildings, able to fight off a small army on its own. No one questioned the Crystal City’s independence from Prime or rebellion, no one had found away around the guardian. If Omega Supreme found fault in him, found him unworthy of entrance, there was only one way they could go, and that was back to Praxus. Fear had such a powerful grip on Prowl’s frame, he could taste it, but he swallowed it down, forced it down, and made himself stand.

 

“Come along, mechlings,” Prowl said, surprised at how even his voice managed to remain. “I imagine Hoist shares a long history with the Guardian.”

 

“He’s another founding member of the free road,” Hoist explained. “He takes both jobs seriously. Not to worry, he has no reason to turn you back. He’s never turned back anyone I’ve brought to see him.”

 

It was illogical but Prowl found himself growing increasingly convinced that he would be the first. Him, not the mechlings, there could be no reason to turn them back. But there was fault in him, he had another mech’s energon on his servos. There were innumeral reasons to turn him back. In the same moment as the originator thought he could not bare to set them on without him, Prowl knew he would never allow them to be returned to Praxus. Though Hoist continued speaking as they left Broadside’s troop carrier, the Praxian did not hear a glyph. His processor burned with fear and guilt and hate. He tried to swallow the fear as even as his ATS took hold of it, and presented him with all the ways this flight from Praxus could so horrifically wrong. Hoist held his shoulder, and Prowl stopped. The mechlings clung to him as the ground opened and a massive mech came to tower over them.

 

“Why do you come to the Crystal City,” the voice bore through his struts and Prowl was frozen. Sunstreaker stood in front of him, and turned his face to the Guardian.

 

“Same reason as everyone else Hoist brings you,” the mechling snapped. “It’s pretty fragging obvious.”

 

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl said, not reproachful, more beseeching.

 

“You are reckless and angry, youngling,” the Guardian said. “It is a dangerous combination.”

 

“They’re scared,” Hoist interjected, quickly. “Like every mechansism who’s used the Road.”

 

“Can you control your younglings?” The great mech asked. Prowl opened his mouth, but his vocalizer clicked uselessly. He had not imagined the guardian would turn back his bitlets. Again, he tried to speak, but he had no voice, no processor power. His vision disappeared as he tried to speak, but his vocalizer produced only static.

 

“Get away from my origin,” Sunstreaker ordered shrilly. The Praxian’s knees buckled, but he did not fall. Something, or someone held him, and though he fought it with every bit of his will, the crash would not be halted, and the last of his consciousness slipped away and Prowl’s processor went blank.

 

His consciousness returned some time later. There was a residual ache throughout his frame, it would linger for joors, but it would pass without intervention, just as the crash had. He powered up his optics, and Sunstreaker’s handsome face filled his vision. Guilt immediately flooded the originator’s circuits, his mechling looked so worried. Sunstreaker had protected him, and love suffused the Praxian. Reaching up, he pulled his yellow creation’s helm down to his, and brushed their brow ridges together. A second warm frame folded against his side, and he felt Sideswipe’s familiar helm nuzzle into his neck. It was not the first time he had crashed in their presence, but that reality did not make the guilt less pervasive. Against such a threat as the Omega Guardian, he should have been guarding them, not the reverse, but his glitch had taken over, he had crashed instead of standing up or his bitlets.

 

“Can I take a look at your origin, mechlings?” Hoist asked. The Twins moved away, slid away, and Prowl was confused. He turned his helm, and realized he was being cradled in someone’s very large servos.

 

“I am alright, Medic,” Prowl said, voice soft as he tried to forced down a renewed sense of panic. Obviously the Omega Guardian had no interest in harming him, Prowl had been helpless to stop him just kliks before, and to be fair, he still was.

 

“All the same,” the green x-frame said. “Flip the cover away from your access port, please.”

 

The Praxian did as he was told. When Hoist plugged in, and his mental presence brushed against Prowl’s firewalls, the Praxian lowered them. Just like the mech’s physical presence, Hoist’s mental presence was gentle and unobtrusive, which made it easier for the originator to tolerate the intrusion. Though Hoist did brush against Prowl’s logic processor, battle computer and emotional cortex, the three components that together formed his glitch, as he accessed the Praxian’s self-diagnostics, he did not prod the systems, or the connections between them. Most medics he had encountered were fascinated by his glitch, and felt compelled to test it, or test some theory on how to cure it. Except, of course it could not be cured, and the invasive touches made Prowl's plating crawl. Hoist’s touch was not invasive, it was as light as Prowl could have hoped it to be. When the medic withdrew from his helm, he left a pain patch behind, and nothing else.

 

“It doesn’t look like you’ve burnt through enough wiring to be a concern,” Hoist declared. “It’s as stable as glitched systems ever are. If I hadn’t already prescribed it, I’d tell you to take med grade for the next orn, but since I want you on it for a quartex at minimum, nothing needs to change there. Do you think you can stand?”

 

“I can stand,” Prowl said. The giant mech angled his servos, and the Praxian slid onto his peds. His mechlings were on him nanokliks later, clinging so tightly to his plating. “I am sorry, mechlings. I have not done well protecting you.”

 

“You can’t help it when you crash,” Sideswipe said. “You said so. Not your fault, o’gin.”

 

“We can protect you too,” Sunstreaker added. The brothers shared a look, their optics fierce and bright. “We’re big enough now.”

 

“It will always been my job to protect you, bravesparks,” the originator said. “Thank you for stopping my fall, Omega Supreme.”

 

“My apologies for my part in your crash,” the guardian replied. “The road to the Crystal City will be clear for you, after your guides and your family have rested.”

 

“Thank you,” he said. Prowl did not know if it was his crash, or a glossa lashing from the medic that had gained them the guardian’s cooperation, either way, the Praxian was deeply relieved, and deeply grateful.

 

They fuelled outside, under the stars. Despite the joors of confinement, the Twins did not wander, neither did they roughhouse. Instead they stayed glued to each other, and glued to him. The crash, their originator guessed, had frightened them. They were, mercifully not so frequent a thing, at the same time the rarity of them meant the Twins were unlikely to become used to them, at least not until they were grown. To be fair, they still frightened him, when he had faced them all his life, at least to a degree. His aching had faded thanks to the patch Hoist had uploaded in his helm, and the originator sat with his creations, as the medic laid out his plans for the Crystal city. At some point, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had fallen into recharge against his shoulder, and Prowl was conflicted over waking them. Above them, the sky was clear, and the temperature was mild. Recharging in the free and open air was an appealing prospect.

 

“I could help you move them,” Hoist offered, quietly. “Or I could grab a blanket. I was thinking of enjoying the quiet. Doesn’t matter what city you’re in, it’s never quiet like this.”

 

“A blanket would be appreciated,” Prowl whispered back. The medic was right, he had never seen the sky so clear or so bright. A klik later, Hoist returned with the blanket, and since Prowl’s arms were trapped around his younglings, the medic draped it over the three of them.

 

“I’m thinking of taking you all the way to Iacon myself,” the green mech said.

 

“That is going a considerable bit out of your way,” the Praxian replied.

 

“I’d like to see you settled in the safe house,” Hoist explained.

 

“You are concerned about my glitch?” Prowl asked.

 

“You’re more at risk right now,” the medic explained, his concern was not out of place. The glitched mech knew it too. “When your fight or flight protocols aren’t surging, everything will settle down to whatever your normal is going to be, and I think you should realize, after your trauma, it may not be the same normal you once knew. I’d rather not risk you having a crash alone in a transport hub or something, with just your bitlets.”

 

“That would be traumatic for them,” the originator agreed. “I wish I could argue that there is no such risk. I know I would be wrong. If you are not too inconvenienced, I would not consider refusing your continued escort.”

 

“It’d be my pleasure,” Hoist replied. “You have a couple of the bravest and sweetest younglings I’ve ever seen. They’ll make fine mechs under your guidance.”

 

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “That is my single goal. They are everything to me.”

 

Under Omega Supreme’s guard, Prowl recharged, the warm and heavy frames of his mechlings against his chassis. He feared, he might always fear for them. Sunstreaker’s defiance in the face of the gargantuan mech was worrying. It seemed likely that his first emerged was not going to be easily convinced to let his originator be the protector. The last thing Prowl wanted was for either Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to get into trouble on his account, and they already that pattern of that particular behaviour. Both mechlings were fiercely attached to him, and had been from emergence. Whenever other buymechs had tried to cause him grief, a frequent occurrence, unfortunately, somehow or another they had fall victim to some mischief. Perhaps it had paint stripper instead of solvent in their personal kit, or scraplets in their berth. None of these pranks had ever been linked to his mechlings, but Prowl had always been so afraid that one mega-cycle they would be. Desecrus would and his buymechs would not have called the Enforcers on the Twins, the originator shuddered in memory at this old fear. But nothing he had said or done, no discipline he had been able to enforce had dissuaded them. They had gone into the cells for him. Prowl would have been stupid not to have realized this. For him they would have let themselves come to unspeakable harm. He wanted to be worthy of that fathomless love.

 

“O’gin?” Sideswipe’s question roused Prowl from recharge. He onlined his optics and looked up at his mischievous mechling.

 

“Good mega-cycle, brightspark,” Prowl said. “Did you recharge well?”

 

“Ya,” the red mechling replied, his brilliant smile morphed into a concerned frown. “Best recharge ever. We’re never going back there, right?”

 

“Never,” the originator promised. “Never.”

 

“I got energon,” Sunstreaker called and he trotted over, balancing three cubes, precariously stacked on his tablet. “Good light-cycle O’gin.”

 

“Good light-cycle, Sunstreaker,” Prowl said, he took a cube from his older mechling before the stack could topple, and handed it to Sideswipe. “Have you been sketching?”

 

“I watched the sunrise,” the young artist replied. “Even though there’s nothing here, it’s pretty.”

 

“I agree,” the Praxian said.

 

He would not have appreciated it before, the quiet emptiness. It would not have occurred to him to take the time to watch a sunrise, though Prowl had generally been online for them. Certainly, he had never taken the time to appreciate the quiet, instead he had taken it for granted. Escape from captivity had granted him a new perception, and though he could not say he was grateful for it, the fugitive Praxian vowed not to lose it. The crash he had suffered had cleared some of the build up in his processor. Though it had not erase the memories that would darken his recharge for stellar-cycles or vorns to come, he felt he had a slim measure more control. Had it not been for his creations, the originator would have raised his ATS to its highest power levels and held it there, and by rote, mute his emotions until they could not overpower him, or even forever. But of course he could not do that, not with the Twins. And perhaps he could not even regret this reality. Could he even imagine life not loving these mechlings so much as he did? Prowl did not think he would ever want to try.

 

“We’ll reach the hub by the dark-cycle,” Hoist said as he approached with his own cube in servo. “Broadside has staked a quartexe’s wages on it. I’ll be happy to pay if he’s right. Since I have faith in him, I booked us an over dark-cycle flight. “This time next-cycle, we should be in Iacon.”

 

“He intends to obey the speed limit, I hope,” Prowl replied. Broadside gave a booming laugh.

 

“No speed limits out here,” the Convoy said. “They’re real keen on ‘em closer to the City though. Road’s clear, no construction right now. We should make it easy.”

 

They did. Whether or not Broadside obeyed the posted limits, Prowl had no way to know, and he did not care enough to be bothered by it. Hope so high is dizzied him, the Praxian cuddled his creations, and finally set out to make a real plan. He would need to work, even if Hoist and the Free Road were happy to house them indefinitely, even if they had the credits to, Prowl needed to work, he needed to reclaim that aspect of himself. There was no question he could not apply to the Enforcers in Iacon, they would contact Praxus, and even if Iacon was not so puritanical as Praxus, that did not mean they would want a disgraced Praefectus Vigilum. Though Prowl had taken the designation Pantera when he had entered the brothel, many of his regular customers had been Enforcer, some of the least worthy of their insignia, but Enforcers nonetheless. None of them had been of the rank that a reference check regarding him would ever come to their notice, but it was not a risk worth taking. Once the mechlings were ready to attend proper school, Prowl thought he could apply for consultant work, security work, or even the Autobots. If he proved his worth through entrance exams, and that would be no struggle, it might eliminate any concern about references.

 

Prowl walked into the Transport Hub, holding each mechling by the servo. They would be seen as too old for it by any number of bystanders, but in such a strange and crowded place he would not risk one of them getting separated. Beyond that, the Praxian needed a share of their strength and resilience, his was quickly bleeding away. He had been in a Hub this size before, been around crowds like this before but it had been so long, and his spark was racing. It would probably have been worse if these were crowds of Praxians, and it would definitely have been worse in the earlier joors of the mega-cycle. Hoist was keeping close, and keeping his optics on Prowl. There was no doubt the late joor of their arrival, and of their light had been planned. At one point in his life, the fugitive would have resisted such coddling but he had been brought low, his pride stripped away in layers, and he could not deny such careful monitoring was warranted.

 

They arrived at their gate two joors before their transport was set to leave, and so Prowl, Hoist and the Twins found a corner in which to sit and to wait. It was agonizing. Thankfully the Twins were oblivious to his turmoil, captivated by some show Hoist had put on their tablets for them. Sunstreaker held his tablet to his chassis as he and Sideswipe watched the cartoon on his twin’s. It was not a particularly expensive tablet, but it and its sketchpad were priceless to his yellow bitlet. Hoist was not oblivious, and had sat himself on the outer most side, if a threat came, if anyone came, he clearly intended to see them off. Even knowing he was there, and knowing they were not alone or undefended, Prowl could not pry his optics off the room. He watched other passengers come and go, watched employees man their workstations, nothing passed by without his notice. Finally, finally they were called called to board.

 

His creations visibly shivered with excitement, and likely anxiety too, as Hoist led the way to their seats. Prowl and the twins were seated in one row, the medic was seated across the aisle. The Twins bickered silently as they decided who would sit at the window. Sideswipe won the battle, suspiciously quickly. Sunstreaker did not appear the least put out, as he sat in the centre seat, next to Prowl. Their originator guessed this was exactly where Sunstreaker had decided he wanted to be. They buckled themselves in as Prowl instructed and went back to their tablets as they waited for take off. Normally, they would have been jostling, joking and arguing, but they were perfectly quiet, and perfectly behaved. To their originator’s expert optics, they were nervous, and trying to distract themselves. He brushed a servo over each of their helms.

 

“What handsome mechlings,” the flight attendant said, taking Prowl’s attention away from his creations. The Twins cocked their helms at each other, sharing a thought, then up at the orange and teal mech. “We have goody bags for young sparks like yours. Would your mechlings like one?”

 

“Well, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker?” Prowl asked. “You are welcome to a treat.”

 

“Ya!” The mechlings exclaimed in unison.

 

“Please,” Sunstreaker added belatedly.

 

“Ya, yes please!’ Sideswipe said.

 

“Of course,” the orange and teal mech replied. “Some energon as well for you, Sir?”

 

“Please,” Prowl said. “Thank you. This is their first ever flight.”

 

“What an adventure you mechlings are on!” The attendant said. “I bet I can get you two a special treat.”

 

The mech returned with two small bags filled with assorted energon goodies, as well as magnetic batches in the shape of a shuttles wings. Prowl was pleased to see the Twins remember their manners and they thanks the flight attendant as they took their bags, and attached the magnets to their chassis. They wore giddy grins as they sorted through their bags, exchanging their favourite treats. It was a sweet, and innocent moment, one the Praxian relished watching. His bitlets had managed to find joy like this out of precious little so many times in the brothel, but it had never come from the kindness of a stranger. He relaxed into his seat, as best as he could given his doorwings, and sipped his energon. There could be no treasure greater than Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, they were his greatest blessing.

 

“Want one, o’gin?” Sideswipe asked, and he held a ruststick out to Prowl. He had not had one in vorns.

 

“Thank you, Sideswipe,” Prowl replied, and he took the treat. “You do not need to share with me

 

“We wanna share,” The red twin said.

 

“We remember you said you liked them best,” Sunstreaker added as he offered one of his to his originator.

 

“It was sweet of you two to remember,” he replied.

 

Despite the sweet fuel, and the excitement, when the flight attendants turned the cabin lights on low, the Twins curled into a blanket together, as best they could buckled into their seats, and recharged. Prowl dimmed his optics, and listened to the sounds of the shuttle. The engines hummed softly under their peds. Passengers of every conceivable frametype recharged, the pitch of their vents varying from frame to frame. Bit by bit his awareness ebbed, and his thoughts drifted. Intake, vent. Intake, vent. What started out as meditation slowly faded into recharge. It was still dark when he woke again, terror in his spark, Prowl forced his spark to calm. Intake, vent. His optics fell on the Twins, recharging soundly next to him. He brought his servo to the belt at his waist and the originator reminded himself that he was restrained for safety in flight. It was not one of those... games. Intake. Vent. Intake. Vent.

 

It was impossible to recharge again after such a memory purge, Prowl was too aware of the sounds, and sensations of the flight to initiate those protocols, but he did not dwell on it. Instead, the Praxian looked out the window, and watched as the sky went from deepest blue, scattered with stars, to a rich blue, with wisp of gold and pink as Alpha Centaurii began to rise. Escaping the brothel and Praxus was only the first step to reclaiming his life. Next he would heal his frame, and retrain his processor how to live outside a cage, teach his mechlings what it meant to have choices, teach them the privilege and peril of freedom and choice. Prowl watched the sunrise, and though he knew it was just another sunrise, one of millions over the course of his life, it had a certain magic he would not be able to articulate with any justice. Spires of ochre and amber appeared on the horizon, rising above a ring of gold. Though the Praxian had never seen these towers before, he knew them to be the Celestial Spires, and the golden ring around them was frame of the Great Dome that was raised to defend the sacred core of Iacon when danger was high. He held no belief in gods, saints or the divinity of Primes, but the sight of the ancient holy place left him with a sense of calm.

 

“Mechlings,” he spoke softly. The Twins were light rechargers, whether that would change in Iacon, Prowl did not know. They woke quickly, that brief flash of anxiety melting away at the calm in his field. He gestured to the window. “Look. Iacon.”

 

The Twins crowded in as best they could, and stared out the window. Prowl could taste their excitement, felt it matched in his own spark. In a land of like Iacon, his mechlings would not stand out and he felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Equality, mechahood was theirs to seize with both servos, it was his to seize. He never wanted to speak of what had been done to him again. Yes, it was his very intention his hideous past deep in his spark, deep in his processor, so deep it could never see the light again. His mechlings would be the exception, if they wanted to speak of it, to process it however they needed, he was their originator, it was his duty to help them. But Prowl hoped that they wanted to bury it too. It would be easier for them, and for him if they did not have to carry the label of creations of a buymech.

 

They were actually free. Praxus had not extradition treaty with Iacon. Even if the Enforcers searched for him here, and it seemed unlikely, even if they found him, and he was determined to avoid this, Iacon would not hand him over. As humiliating as the idea was, if faced with extradition Prowl would lay all of what had been done to him, legally and illegally at the servos of Praxian businessmechs, Enforcers, and criminals alike. He would tell anyone who would listen what the mech he had killed had subjected him to, Iacon would not extradite him. Knowing this did not make the fugitive any more keen to actually face this hurdle, and he willed it to never come to be. They were free, after so many hundreds of stellar-cycles he and the Twins were free. When he had healed, Prowl would take them parks, museums, arcades, any place they wished to see, every place they wished to see. It was a little like a drug, freedom after so long a slave, and the originator knew he and they would likely go overboard, but so long as they were all safe, restraint be damned, they had earned a few indulgences.

 

His spark was in his throat as their transport went in to land. Prowl knew Enforcers would not be waiting at the terminal to arrest him, but that did not stop the worry from flitting in and out of his conscious and unconscious thoughts. He could not help but feel some fellowship with petro-rabbits and other creatures of prey. Eventually he would stop feeling like a hunted or caged mechanimal, time and distance would help. This mech who was terrified of shadows and spaces open and closed, and mechanisms within even metres of him, this was not who he wanted to be. Though Prowl was aware he would never be the mech he had been before, and he was not convinced he would want to be, he was determined to build himself int someone new, someone different, and it was his job to ensure he liked the mech he became.

 

As their transport made contact with the runway, and taxied to the Hub, Prowl dug his digits into the arms of his chair, offlined his optics, and repeated the mantras he had memorized in another life. His battle computer and emotional cortex were both running wild, and he felt his helm begin to ache. Repeating the mantras over and over, the Praxian fought to abort a crash. Sensing his distress, Sunstreaker linked their arms and pressed his helm into his originator’s shoulder. A nanoklik later, Sideswipe was mirroring his brother, holding tight to Prowl. For a moment he felt guilty for projecting his anxiety onto his creations, but with the next nanoklik he teeked their fields. Identical promises protection draped over him. It was not their responsibility to guard him, it was not, but the sentiment still touched him. They were amazing mechlings. The warmth of their frames, more than their promises, along with the mantras calmed Prowl’s processor, and the pain, and heat eased off.

 

When the call came to disembark Prowl felt calm, as calm as he had felt in the last mega-cycle. He had exit strategies ready to employ if the worst case happened. His family would never see Praxus again. They would never be bound by four walls again. Hoist led the way off the transport, glancing back at his charges every so often. Prowl did not resent to concern, he would be a fool not to acknowledge he was in a fragile state, as much as he loathed it, this was the current reality. If he fell apart, Hoist was here for the Twins, and that knowledge made the originator feel more secure. His creations held tight to his servos, anxious in their own right, their helms never stopped moving as they tried to take in the strange new frametypes surrounding them, and the sights and sounds of this metropolitan transport hub.

 

“I’ll hail a Convoy when we step outside,” Hoist said as they made their way though the throng. “I commed ahead, one of my friends made sure the place was ready. We’ll changed the door code when we settle you in. We change it every time someone moves in and out.”

 

“You must have... friends all over Cybertron,” Prowl murmured.

 

“I do,” the medic replied. “They don’t have your details, not your frametype or designation. Once you’re ready to move on, they’ll be nothing to trace you back.”

 

That might have been the biggest comfort of the light-cycle. When he had recovered enough to find a function, and a habsuite that would be theirs, and theirs alone, there would be nothing to tie them to the past, no hint that they had made a frantic escape, no one would need to know. The knowledge that he might really be able to bury all traces of the Crystalline Berth well and truly in the past was uplifting. He could do this. Prowl could make a new life, a better life than he had had even before the brothel. With the Twins, he would have a life with love, not contempt, and a function that would suit him as well, maybe even better than the Enforcers had. No, he would be certain that it would be a better fit. Had his comrades in the Enforcers held any respect for him, not respect for his skills but for him as a mech they would not have celebrated the erasure of his insignia. They had resented him, resented his success and his rank, resented that they had been expected to take orders from a defective mech.

 

“There’s our ride,” Hoist said. “It’s not a long ride.”

 

After so many joors in a transport and in a Convoy’s trailer, the Twins were clearly not enthused to step into another, but they did climb in, without so much of a grumble. They did not need to grumble, their sullen expressions were testimony enough. Of course they were itching to pick alt modes, finally upgraded enough to have one, but here and now was not the time. Once they were all settled, their originator would take them to a track, let them pick, and learn to drive safely. First they needed to explore their new environment on their peds, and with Prowl’s supervision, he was not at all ready to let them loose, first he needed to know, in spark and processor that they would be safe. Sitting next to each other, practically intertwined, the mechling stared out the window, pointing at all the remarkable things that they saw. Looking over their shoulders, Prowl smiled. Cities, even great cities were not remarkable to him, he had served in Perihex, Praxus’ capital, and other cities in Praxus. But Iacon was strange, and utterly new. In all his vorns serving, Prowl had never gotten around to attending a conference in the spark of Cybertron. Minibots walked next to warframes, without the least concern, Seekerkin flew above them, avoiding the street and pedestrian traffic. Seeing so many strange frames was intimidating but comforting in a strange way, in a city of millions, disappearing would be a simple thing.

 

“This is us!” Hoist declared as the Convoy parked outside a massive habsuite complex.

 

“Whoa,” Sideswipe said. “This play is huge!”

 

“There are lots of families living here,” the medic replied. “There’s a playground, an arcade, even a pool on the grounds. You’ll have lots of chances to make friends, and to start new adventures when you’re ready.”

 

Sunstreaker dropped his helm to Prowl’s shoulder as he took in their new home. What he was thinking, his originator could not be certain. Of the Twins, Sideswipe was the extrovert. His first emerged was not quiet, exactly, but he was definitely more reserved, and his distrust towards other mechanisms, woven more deeply in his spark. He would make friends though, more slowly than Sideswipe, but he would, because he had his brother to be his guide, just as he would be Sideswipe’s voice of reason. Though the originator could feel his second emerged excitement when Hoist spoke the glyph friend, he was not worried that his gregarious creation would leave his twin behind. The Twins were connected on a level no one new could ever match, that not even he could comprehend. There had been other mechlings in the brothel, they had been around other sparklings and younglings, but the systemic racism that was written into the Law of Praxus bled into ever fibre of the city-state, and even the creations of the other buymechs had no use for foreign-framed mechlings.

 

“There is no rush, Sunstreaker,” Prowl said, soothing his eldest.

 

“Don’t worry, Sunny,” Sideswipe teased. “I’ll protect you.”

 

“Heh,” the yellow twin snorted. “More like I’ll be saving your aft when you pull one of your pranks on the wrong mechanism”

 

“You’re probably not wrong,” his brother replied, shrugging with a laissez-faire air.

 

“I would like to live here a few quartexes before you try plunging it into chaos, Sideswipe,” the originator cautioned. “There will be consequences if you hurt anyone, my cleverspark, in frame or spark.”

 

“Yes, Or’gin,” Sideswipe said, and he rubbed his forehelm against his originator’s. Prowl knew he meant it. Fond of mayhem or not, Sideswipe had a good spark, and he had never made a habit of terrorizing the innocent.

 

Hoist led the family into the complex, and up to the elevator. Prowl was all at once very glad that they were on some upper floor. At least for now, the urge to hide was too strong to resist, and he told himself there was no wisdom in resisting. It was unlikely anyone was hunting for him or them. Desecrus, may Unicron feast on his spark, had likely been smelted down, or buried in the sewers, the Crystalline Berth will have fallen into someone else’s servos, business would be carrying on even as he stood in the elevator, far away in Iacon. Business would go on without him, thank Primus for that. Perhaps if he had been brave or selfless, Prowl would be making some sort of plan to some how free the other buymechs, but he was not brave, and he was not selfless, and he would never step another ped in Praxus, no one there was worth the risk.

 

“So my friend’s stocked it up,” Hoist explained as he opened the door to habsuite 999. “I told him there were some hungry younglings coming in to roost. Knowing him, the pantry will be full of energon goodies, and treats.

 

“Whoa,” the Twins exclaimed in unison. The door opened into the great room, all ready furnished with deep couches, and a huge entertainment centre, complete with gaming system. One of Rapidfire’s lackey’s had purchased a considerably simpler system and his and other mechlings living in the brothel had made great use of it, of course the Twins had never been permitted to play. To their originator’s surprise, they did not run to it, they did not even take another step forward, they stared, in total amazement.

 

“I’ll show you the basics,” Hoist explained. “How about I show you the berthrooms first?”

 

Numbly, the Twins nodded, and they followed the medic, and Prowl followed them. This was not a safehouse like any the Praxian had ever seen. Iy was luxurious, ostentatious, the generosity of the Free Road continued to startle and to amaze him. Hoist declared the first berthroom was intended for Prowl. The large berth, big enough to comfortably fit all three of them, was outfitted with a thick berthpad, and covered in what looked to be soft linens. There was a quiet corner off to the side of the berth, with a comfortable chair, a lamp and a bookshelf. When he took another half turn Prowl saw there was an on suite washracks as well. That shower likely had proper temperature controls, it would not scald or freeze his plating, that alone seemed like a luxury after so much time. Excitement bubbling over, the Twins raced into the berthroom Hoist had announced was their own, Prowl followed at a slower pace.

 

It was a berthroom meant for mechlings slowly developing into mechs. Posters with the cartoon characters they had enjoyed best during their brief time in the clinic were plastered over the walls. Desks, fitted with simple workstations sat along one wall. To the left, two good sized berths, draped with colourful linens sat side by side, separated only by a small end table. There was a chest overflowing with toys, and shelves holding more games than Prowl had ever seen along the other wall. His sparklinghood had been luxurious, if emotionally empty, though he had never been attracted to many toys or games like these, Barricade had been enamoured with them, and had possessed many loud and flashy games and toys, but even their procreators, who had showered their favourite in everything he thought to ask for, and many thinks he did not ask for, had never filled his shelves this full.

 

“Is it always... this much?” Prowl asked, quietly. Hoist shook his helm, chuckling.

 

“I think he went overboard,” the x-frame said. “My friend is an absolute hard aft with grown mechanisms, but younglings and sparklings, he’s got a soft spot about three kilometres deep.”

 

“Please pass on our thanks,” the originator replied. “I do not believe they will forget this moment.”

 

“It’s about time they got to be mechlings,” Hoist replied.

 

After showing the Twins how to use the gaming systems, complete with fifty different games, and leaving them to play, Hoist showed Prowl the kitchen. Just as he had predicted, the pantry was stocked with sweet and savoury treats, as well as healthy fare. The friend who had prepared this place for them had made it a youngling’s paradise. He though his creations were in a state of shock, but they were handling their new luxuries well. Their originator was also in a state of shock. How a stranger could give so much time, and credits to mechanisms he would never meet was processor boggling. In the kitchen, next to the pantry, the energon dispenser was loaded with med-grade, sparkling grade, and several strengths of mid-grade. Though they were younglings now, the Twins had not had the best nutrition for the first vorns of their lives, and a mix of sparkling grade and mid-grade would be ideal for them for some time yet. There was an honest to Primus energon press. Prowl could actually remember the last time he had had pressed energon, vorns... it had been vorns.

 

“I’m staying a couple of floors down,” Hoist said. “In suite 729. Or I can stay if you need me. Otherwise, I’m just a call away.”

 

“We will be alright,” Prowl replied. “We would benefit from some time... with just us.”

 

“I was thinking just that,” the medic said. “Mechlings, make sure your o’gin rests!”

 

“We will!” The Twins called back, and the medic was gone, and the family was alone again for the first time in many mega-cycles. Prowl vented a long sigh. Hoist’s assistance, and his very presence had been a huge help, but it was nice, it was very nice to be just him and his creations.

 

“Come sit with us!” Sunstreaker called. “And watch me cream Sideswipe.”

 

“Come sit with us and watch me beat Sunny!” Sideswipe retorted. Prowl actually chuckled.

 

“Alright dearsparks,” he said and he came around the couch, and sat between the Twins. They jeered each other, but also cheered each other on each time they managed some new move in this racing sim. Out of habit, they curled into him as they played, resting their helms on his shoulders or chassis. Though the game was not of much interest to him, Prowl watched them play, praised their ingenuity, and relaxed. Eventually, he became so relaxed that warmed by his creations’ frames, even with the jostling, by their laughter, he drifted off to recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:  
> Nanoklik: second  
> Klik: minute  
> Bream: 8 kliks  
> Joor: Hour  
> Mega-cycle: Day/20 joor  
> Orn: Week/9 mega-cycles  
> Decaorn: 10 orn  
> Quartex: Month, 5 orn, 45 mega-cycle  
> Stellar-cycle: Year/450 mega-cycles/10 quartexes  
> Vorn: 83 stellar-cycles  
> Comm speak -"  
> Normal speak "  
> Bond speak “italics”  
> ATS: Advanced Tactical Systems  
> Originator: “mother”, carrier  
> Progenitor: “father”, sire  
> Procreator: parent  
> Contributive spark: spark better suited to “fathering” a creations  
> Receptive spark: spark more likely to conceive creations.  
> To kindle, to spark, to bud: to conceive  
> Emergence: birth  
> Apterium: Structure of lower doorwing joint.
> 
> Seasons:  
> Winter: Frigus  
> Spring: Saltus  
> Summer: Calor  
> Fall: Imber
> 
> Months:  
> Primarii  
> Solomnii  
> Kinserii  
> Theomachius  
> Epistii  
> Sigmus  
> Adaptii  
> Aureas  
> Coventus  
> Mortius


End file.
